


A Fine Line Between

by inkandpaperhowl



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Post-In Hushed Whispers, Post-In Your Heart Shall Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-10 04:54:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5571802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkandpaperhowl/pseuds/inkandpaperhowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is so little that stands between one reality and the next, so very little between being strong and being afraid, between being alive and being dead...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Present and Future

**Author's Note:**

> So, since you can't tag individual chapters (or, since I can't figure out how to tag individual chapters), assume that the tags go in order of the chapters? So chapter 1 is post-IHW, chapter two is post-IYHSB, etc... hopefully that makes sense and you can work out what spoiler level from there...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyeni returns from the future worried; Cassandra doesn't know how to comfort her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so it's 5.30am, and I was never supposed to ship Nyeni and Cassandra?? Canon Nyeni is romancing Josie (or will be if the damn game ever lets me get started on that), and I have an actual Cassmance-quizzy planned, but two things happened: one, Lisa has been writing Pentilyvellan fic and I accidentally fell into that OT3 unreservedly, and two, I took Cass with me when I did In Hushed Whispers and now everything hurts, so...
> 
> Anyway, @kogiopsis, this is all your fault.
> 
> So, here’s a post-IHW drabble because I have no self-control. There be spoilers for that quest.

Nyeni was skittish around Leliana after they came back from Redcliffe. She tried to hide it, but Cassandra knew her well enough by now to notice the slight frown creased between her eyebrows was caused by something other than the usual concerns of the Inquisition or her mark. And she was observant enough to notice the way her gloved hand clenched into a fist around the mark whenever Leliana was in the room, as if Nyeni were trying to hide it, trying to keep it even more out of sight than she usually kept it. At first, Cassandra thought it was just a habit the Herald had picked up over the course of their travels, but she came to realize that it was only when Leliana was in the room.

 _What happened at Redcliffe?_ she found herself wondering, and not for the first time. There had been flashes of blue light, two of them, following quickly on each other, and that Tevinter mage and Nyeni had disappeared and reappeared in between them, and when they had reappeared, they were not the same.

Well, perhaps Dorian was the same--Cassandra hadn’t known him well enough before to make that judgement, but Nyeni...something terrible had happened in that red-lyrium soaked future Dorian had described to them, and Cassandra was worried that Nyeni had been more affected than she was letting on.

She found the Herald sitting on a log around Varric’s fire, her fingers nervously tapping on the edges of a tattered copy of _The Tale of the Champion_ while Varric quietly cleaned Bianca and surreptitiously watched her from under his lowered brow as she read. Cassandra hesitated, not wanting to interrupt, but came up behind Varric, clearing her throat quietly to catch his attention.

“Seeker,” he said quietly, eyes still locked on Nyeni. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“May I speak with you for a moment?” she asked, just as softly, and he shrugged, carefully setting Bianca aside and getting to his feet. He followed her a short distance away, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows.

“So?”

“Is...does the Herald seem...different to you? Since Redcliffe?” Cassandra asked, frowning, and glancing over Varric’s head back toward the fire.

The dwarf shrugged again. “Sure. She went through some shit--you were there for the debriefing.”

“Yes, but...” Cassandra hesitated. “Have you noticed how she acts around Leliana in particular?”

“It’s not just Leliana, Seeker. It’s you and me, too.”

Cassandra blinked.

“What, you haven’t noticed? She’s practically attached to you at the hip, and any time she’s not watching you and worrying, she’s stuck to me like a burr in a horse’s tail.”

“Did Dorian tell you anything else about what happened in the dark future they were stranded in?” Cassandra asked quietly.

“I probably know less than you, Seeker,” Varric said. “I got banished from the meeting when it moved to the War Room, you know.”

“Yes, but you talk to everyone; you have to have spoken to him at some point.”

Varric flashed a brief smile, but he sobered again as he glanced over his shoulder at Nyeni, who was still hunched over her book. “Okay, I might have confronted him about the Herald,” he said finally. “He came stumbling out of a portal with her on his heels and suddenly they’re the best friends the world has ever seen, when a minute ago, he was a stranger? It was a little odd, even after he explained about their fun little jaunt to the future, so I quizzed him about it.”

“And?” Cassandra demanded, crossing her arms.

“I think there are some things you go though with a person, and you don’t have a choice but to come out of it as friends. I imagine the end of the world is one of those things.”

“A possible end of the world. A possibility that they erased by coming back here to the present,” Cassandra protested.

“Hey, time travel isn’t my strong suit, either; you would have to talk to one of them about it. Honestly, she might welcome it.” Varric shrugged again, and turned back to the fire, resuming his seat and his vigil over the nervous Herald. Cassanda’s eyes narrowed, and her frown deepened as she paced for a moment before sighing in exasperation and going to find Dorian.

It didn’t take much effort--he was never far from the Herald, and she found him leaning against the corner of a nearby building, just out of any obvious sight-lines to Varric’s fire.

“My lady,” he said, his head dipping in a bow that might have been mocking if she’d chosen to take it that way. “What can I do for you this fine day?”

“You didn’t tell us everything that happened in the possible future you aborted, did you?” she accused rather bluntly, arms crossed again. He raised his eyebrows, probably at her tone, but sighed.

“No,” he said. “Some of it was not mine to tell. And some of it doesn’t need to be told.”

“I think, perhaps, it might,” she said. “You haven’t been with us long, mage, and you don’t know the Herald as we do. There is something wrong, but I cannot help her if I do not know everything.”

Dorian’s eyebrows lifted a fraction higher, and he pushed himself upright. “We spent quite some time together in the future, you know,” he said, “and I think I can safely say that I know Nyeni just as well as you do. Perhaps better. There are some crucibles that reveal more about a person than any amount of time one spends with them.”

Cassandra frowned, but relented. “You are not wrong,” she conceded. “But still. If you are as good a friend to her as you profess to be, then you must know something is wrong. I want to help her. She’s...well, she’s terribly important.”

“To the world, to the Inquisition, or to you, Seeker?” Dorian asked quietly, eyes deeply serious behind the ever-present twinkle of mirth. 

Cassandra leveled her best glare at him. “To all of us,” she said evenly, praying that she was not blushing. Dorian watched her for a moment, then nodded.

“All right,” he said. “In the debriefing, we mentioned that unpleasant things happened--that this mysterious Elder One was on the doorstep and that we only escaped by the skin of our teeth, yes?”

“I was at the debriefing,” Cassandra said through gritted teeth. “What did you not tell us?”

“That the ‘skin of our teeth’ was, in fact, the violent deaths of you, Varric, and Leliana.”

Cassandra frowned, her breath sticking in her throat in sudden realization of what Nyeni had truly witnessed in the future. It hadn’t just been the death of the world--something so nebulous and overwhelming that, while horrifying, could never truly be comprehended--but the death of something much more personal: her three closest friends.

“From what I gathered,” Dorian continued, “beyond simply having to watch you all die, there were some comments made that were particularly painful for her to hear. And though I believe she knows that your true selves would never dream of saying such things, it was hard for her to learn that there is a possibility, a version of events, no matter how distant, in which you all could be so changed.”

“I see,” Cassandra said softly, glancing back toward the Herald and sighing. “Thank you, Dorian.” He nodded, and she left him, returning to Varric’s fire and sliding into the seat beside the Herald.

“Do you mind?” she asked gently, and Nyeni smiled, closing the book.

“Not at all,” she said, and there was almost a hint of relief in her voice, as if she was no longer comfortable if Cassandra and Varric weren’t in sight at all times. “Was there anything I could do for you?”

Cassandra glanced across the fire at Varric, who nodded imperceptibly. Cassandra took a deep breath, and smiled at Nyeni. “Not exactly,” she said. “I just had a few questions...about the future you and Dorian...experienced.”

Nyeni’s smiled faded a bit, and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth briefly, but she nodded.

“He mentioned that perhaps some things were said that were...unpleasant to hear?”

“Oh,” Nyeni said, blinking. “I mean, yes,” she said. “There were. Sorry, that’s not where I thought this conversation was going.”

“You thought she was going to ask you how the two of us died?” Varric pitched in. Cassandra winced, but Nyeni let out a breathless laugh that was half relief, half amusement.

“I should have remembered that she has more tact than you, Varric,” the Herald said, and the dwarf half-bowed from his seat. The mirth faded from Nyeni’s eyes as she glanced back at Cassandra, and she sighed. She stared into the fire, consciously clenching her hands, and Cassandra wondered if the gesture was to stop herself from reaching out and catching the flames.

“How much do either of you know about the Hero of Ferelden?” Nyeni asked after a silence, and Cassandra blinked at the non-sequitur. Varric frowned, setting Bianca aside again and leaning forward.

“Not as much as some,” he said, “but enough to get by. I mean, I know the story--everyone does.” Cassandra nodded.

“She was a mage, right?” Nyeni asked quietly, and there was a silent _like me_ left hanging in the air between them.

“Yes,” Cassandra said. “Though she was raised in the Circle--I know she pushed King Alistair toward making changes to the way the Circles were run, but it all became rather obsolete once the rebellion began.”

“She and Leliana were...involved?”

Varric nodded. “Yeah, that’s the best part of the story.” Cassandra glared at him. “What? It is. They spent a lot of time dancing around one another--from what I can tell, our spymaster was a bit dense about the whole thing, thought the Hero and the king were ‘walking out together’ until it was rather bluntly shoved under her nose and she realized her months of unrequited pining were totally unnecessary and could have been avoided if she’d only said something.”

“Was she very powerful?” Nyeni asked, her gaze dropping back to the fire, as she tugged on the hem of her sleeve, as if trying to pull it down to cover the mark.

“The Hero? Sure,” Varric said. “She killed the archdemon, after all. There are a few soldiers who were at the battle who talk in awe about how she created thunderstorms out of nothing.” 

Nyeni nodded, sighing. “I know it wasn’t real,” she muttered, more to herself than either of them. “I know she didn’t mean it.”

“What do you mean?” Cassandra asked. Nyeni glanced at her guiltily, fist reflexively clenching around the mark.

“It’s nothing,” she said quickly. “Just...I’m not sure I can explain it.” She fell silent for a moment, the fire catching her gaze again, until finally she sighed. “Leliana said something in the future--the one we stopped--she...she had been tortured, and there was something wrong. They’d done something far worse than bruise her, and she...” Nyeni shuddered. “It wasn’t good. But more than the physical and the magical abuse, there was just...something happened to her in there, and almost the first thing she said to me was, ‘And mages always wonder why people fear them.’ I...she was never afraid of mages before--she _loves_ a mage, but she was so _angry_ and she had suffered _so much_ ,” Nyeni paused, her eyes closed around tears, and Cassandra hesitated before gently resting a hand on her shoulder. Perhaps unconsciously, the Herald leaned into that touch for comfort, and Cassandra slid her arm more firmly around her friend’s shoulders.

“You came back, Nyeni,” she said gently. “You erased that.”

“But it still happened,” the Herald protested, shaking her head. “I was there. It was real. And then you--the door closed behind you, and...” She bit her lip again, and Cassandra felt her breath hitch in her lungs. She carefully put her other arm around the Herald, as well, pulling her in for a proper hug.

“It happened once, but we will make sure it never happens again,” she said firmly.

“I can barely look at her,” Nyeni whispered. “I know it’s not the same her, but there is so little that separates that reality from this one. There is so little standing between her supporting mages and fearing them, so little between you being alive and being...” She trailed off, and Cassandra tightened her grip.

“It’s all right,” she said. “We’re alive.”

“We promise to stay that way as long as we can,” Varric added.

“No one should have this much power,” Nyeni muttered, cupping her hand around the mark, glaring down at it. “That’s what she said, and I...I don’t want to cause her more pain. Hasn’t she had enough of pain? Haven’t we all?” 

“That’s life,” Varric said, shrugging. “Nothing we can do about that, no matter how much power we have. But I think I speak for all of us when I say that we’re grateful you used the power you do have to erase the end of the world and bring us back here, where there is _less_ suffering. Perhaps we can’t get rid of all of it, but we can definitely have less.”

“Besides,” Cassandra said, “Leliana is stronger than she looks, and more than that, she likes you. I do not think that there is anything you could do to make her fear you. And I know that she is relieved that you came back.” She paused, then added, “So am I.”

“Yeah, I know I much prefer being alive to being disemboweled by demons,” Varric said, letting out a short laugh. Cassandra glared at him again. “What, you don’t prefer being alive to being dead?”

“It’s all right,” Nyeni said. “It happened. Then it didn’t. It might all make sense one day, but for now, I’m just...terribly grateful to have you back. Or to have never had you leave at all.” She sighed. “Promise me you won’t give up. On saving the world, or on living, or...or on any of it. Either of you. Promise me you’ll never tell me again that I can’t help you because you’re already dead.”

“I think we can safely say that won’t be an issue,” Varric said, eyes widening as if he were suddenly realizing what Cassandra had noticed while talking with Dorian--that Nyeni had suffered something far worse than just the end of the world. The Herald sighed in relief.

“Thank you for putting up with me when I’m being so irrational.”

“It’s no trouble,” Cassandra assured her. “Honestly, it’s easier to keep you out of trouble when you won’t leave my side.” Nyeni smiled.

“I shall endeavor to remain close to you, then, so as to make your life less difficult.”

Varric grinned across the fire at them, but didn’t say anything. It took Cassandra several more minutes to realize that she hadn’t ever let go of Nyeni, and that at some point, silently, unconsciously, both of them had realized that it was better that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually gave this a title because I'm just generally assuming that I'm going to keep going with it? That as I go through the game, I'll end up writing more little scenes like this one, where people actually get to react to the quests and the things that happen in them. Because somehow I'm in very deep all of a sudden and my heart hurts when I think of these nerds.


	2. Belief and Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Haven falls, Nyeni doubts that she is chosen, despite her people's unwavering faith in her. Cassandra encourages her to see that it doesn't matter what others think, so long as she does the right thing. Post-IYHSB.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so here’s the thing: when you’re talking to Mother Giselle, all the dialogue options suck.
> 
> The “I don’t believe” option results in “Whatever you all say, I felt no divine intervention at the Conclave or at Haven. The path ahead seems mine alone.”
> 
> and the “We need more than faith” option comes out as “I don’t see how what I believe matters.” And all the other options are either very angry or very Andrastian-affirming, which is hardly helpful for very shy, very Dalish quizzies like Nyeni. So here’s what Nyeni would have said, had the game allowed her to.

“You can’t go out there,” Josephine told Cassandra bluntly, her hand on the hilt of the warrior's sword, stopping her from belting it on. The Seeker turned the full force of her glare on the ambassador, a look that had made grown men cry and dragons quail, and snarled at her. 

“If you think I’m going to sit here and do nothing when she could be _out there_ \--”

"We're worried, too," Josie's voice wavered, but her eyes were hard. "But we cannot lose you as well."

Cassandra opened her mouth to spit something back, but Leliana cut in. “Cassandra, please,” she said, gently, wearily. She easily moved Josephine’s hand aside and offered the blade to Cassandra, who took it a bit more forcefully than she meant to. But Leliana simply said, “Be careful.”

Cassandra grunted and swung her shield over her shoulder, stalking out of their makeshift camp. People scattered aside to make way for her, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. The Herald was out there, in the snow--she could feel it. She knew. She didn’t know how she knew, but she _knew_ there was no way Nyeni had died in that avalanche. 

She cursed under her breath, again, still angry that Dorian and Varric had dragged her away from the Herald when the dragon had descended from the sky, that they had heard Nyeni’s determined shout ordering them to leave her and get away while they could and had _obeyed_. Cassandra would have cut her way through the archdemon’s teeth to reach the Herald, but Nyeni told them to live, and so they pulled her away. She wasn’t sure she would forgive them for this. 

“I’m coming with you,” a voice sounded in the silent snow behind her, and she half-turned to see Cullen jogging in her footsteps, torch in hand, face as determined as Nyeni’s had been when she stood up to the deformed would-be god that had attacked them. 

“Fine,” Cassandra said. “But don’t you dare try to stop me, even if I have to dig half of Haven out from under the snow.” Cullen said nothing, his mouth set in a grim line, but he nodded, and gestured for her to lead the way. She grunted again and stepped forward, sinking up her knees in the snow. 

“Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide,” Cassandra muttered under her breath, too quiet for Cullen to hear over the wind. “I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond.“ She cursed as she stumbled over some unseen ripple under the snow, but forced herself to keep moving forward. She didn’t know if it was any use, praying to a god that the Herald didn’t believe in. Perhaps she was asking the wrong deity to save Nyeni’s life, but she didn’t know anything about the elven gods, and she didn’t know who else to ask. She had only the Maker, and her fierce belief that she had never needed Him more than she did right now. So she prayed, and moved forward, eyes squinting into the wind as she searched for any sign of the woman she believed was the Herald of a faith they didn’t share. 

.

Nyeni shivered, tucking her hands under her arms as best she could, but it was no use: she had never been so cold in her life. She supposed that was the price one paid for dropping an avalanche on oneself and then hiking through said avalanche further into the mountains, but she couldn’t help thinking that something about this situation was unfair. She shouldn’t have to die here in the snow, not after everything else she had survived. 

Perhaps the Creators weren’t watching out for her after all. 

Perhaps she should have dedicated herself to Mythal instead of Sylaise. 

Perhaps she should have known better than to think that the Breach might have brought her gods closer to her, that somehow they were bleeding through the hole in the sky just like the rest of the Beyond was. Perhaps she should not have closed it before her gods had noticed and found their way through. 

She shivered, and wondered, and forced herself to put one foot in front of the other, and prayed to Mythal the Protector even though she wasn’t sure it was any use at all any more. 

She heard Cullen’s shout first, half-worry, half-relief, but it was Cassandra who caught Nyeni when she stumbled. The Seeker lifted her as if she weighed nothing, and her breath was warm on Nyeni’s face when she breathed out her relieved thanks to the Maker. Nyeni wanted to jokingly tell her that perhaps it had been Mythal, not the Maker, but she was too cold. She felt Cassandra’s arms around her, cradling her against her breastplate, and for the first time in a long time she felt safe. 

She silently thanked Mythal, and thought that she had been hasty in her accusations after all. Someone was watching out for her, and even if it wasn’t a god, but was only Cassandra, she thought that she could live with that. 

.

Nyeni awoke to the sounds of arguing--voices distant at first, seemingly far away and quiet and muffled by snow and fear and sleep. She struggled to open her eyes and drag her limbs from the stiff darkness that seemed to be restraining her. A pinprick of pain in her hand--the mark--flared and a sharp intake of breath hissed into her lungs as she sat up, pressing the thumb of her right hand into the palm of her left, as if she could stifle the pain by pushing it further into her skin. 

“Ah, you are awake,” a soft voice said, comforting in its surety. Mother Giselle, then. Nyeni looked up as the arguing voices grew louder, angrier--Cassandra’s voice rang out over the others, and Cullen’s responded, and Josephine’s cut in as if trying to calm them, but it only made it worse. Nyeni’s eyes were drawn across the fire to where her advisers--her friends--stood, arms crossed, all shouting. 

“They have the time to argue--a luxury, thanks to you,” Mother Giselle said, as if that explained everything, as if that justified the argument raging across the camp. She sighed. “In-fighting may threaten us just as much as this Corypheus.” Nyeni looked up at her sharply, blinking. 

“If they’re fighting about what we should do next, I need to be there. There are things they need to know, things he said--” Nyeni said quietly, beginning to stand, but Mother Giselle gently pushed her back down onto the cot, offering her a tired smile. 

“Another heated voice won’t help. Even yours. Perhaps, especially yours. Besides, you need to rest,” she said. She sighed again, her eyes following Nyeni’s gaze toward the frightened, shouting leaders of the Inquisition. “Our leaders struggle because of what we survivors witnessed. We saw our defender stand and fall. And now we have seen her return. The further our enemy is behind us, the more miraculous your actions seem, and the more our trials seem ordained.” She paused, and when she turned her gaze back to Nyeni, it was sharp, piercing, calculating. She was looking for something in the Herald’s soul, and Nyeni had no way of knowing if she was finding it. She doubted it, though. Mother Giselle was looking for some sign that her Herald believed the same things she did. 

But Nyeni didn’t know if she believed anything at all anymore. 

“It makes it difficult, no? what we have been called to believe?” 

Nyeni dropped her gaze, fingers picking at loose threads around a tear in the hem of her coat, thoughts straying toward the list of things she would need to fix it-- _thread, needle, thimble, time_ \--as she struggled to find the words that might answer Mother Giselle’s question. 

“I survived the avalanche, you know,” she said finally, quietly protesting, trying to tell this stalwart bastion of faith that she wasn’t a miracle. “I didn’t die and come back.” 

“Of course,” Mother Giselle said, inclining her head, voice calm, as if she had expected this line of attack and prepared for it. “And nothing can bring the dead back from across the Veil, but the people know what they saw.” She paused again, and her gaze flicked out across the camp, toward the people of Haven whose awed glances Nyeni had been silently trying to avoid since she awoke. “Or perhaps, what they need to believe they saw. The Maker works both in the moment, and in how the moment is remembered.” 

“It isn’t the truth,” Nyeni said pleadingly. 

“But they need it to be. They are frightened, and so they cling to something that makes the fear less present. Is that so terrible?”

Nyeni frowned, following Mother Giselle’s gaze over the firelight glow of the camp, tiny and frightened, huddled in the snow. Cassandra and Cullen has stopped fighting, stomping off their separate ways, and Nyeni watched as Cassandra glared down at maps spread out on a rough table someone had constructed out of odds and ends. She was already looking for a way to get them out of this mess, a place they could go, anything that would help them live. She never stopped. Nyeni’s breath caught in her throat at the thought of all the work that would go into getting this cold, wet, scared group of survivors out of the mountains, but Cassandra didn’t hesitate, didn’t falter, didn’t fear. Her faith was stronger than the shield that was still strapped to her back, and it almost made Nyeni want to believe, too. How easy would it be, to _know_ that her god was protecting her, was shepherding her toward the path she was meant to be on, was giving her the strength she needed to endure whatever life threw in her way? How comforting it would be to have a faith as unshakable as the mountain they now stood on. 

But there was comfort in the firelight, too, in the gift Sylaise had given her people so that they would be warm, so that they would live. Dirthamen had given them knowledge and loyalty and family; Anduril gave them the hunt; June, the weapons to protect and feed themselves... Cassandra’s god might guide her steps, but Nyeni’s gods had given her everything she needed to guide her own steps. Perhaps it was harder, but no one had ever said that life was supposed to be easy. 

Faith, it seemed, wasn’t easy either. 

“I know you think that your god chose me,” Nyeni said carefully, watching Mother Giselle’s face for any sign of reaction. “I know you think this mark means your god sent me to protect you, and since I know little of your god, I suppose I can’t say you’re wrong. But I know my gods, and I know they don’t choose our paths for us. We have to forge our own.”

Mother Giselle raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. Nyeni sighed and stood, moving closer to the fire, closer to Cassandra, but the song stopped her. 

It was a beautiful song, and clearly well-known as most of the camp joined in, but Nyeni knew what it truly was. She couldn’t quite bring herself to glare at Mother Giselle, who was playing another card as easily as if this were Wicked Grace and not real people’s very real emotions. The song was designed to lift spirits; it was a defiant shout into the darkness. It was Mother Giselle’s last attempt to make the Herald realize that even if _she_ didn’t think she was god-touched, the people did. _You wouldn’t deny them the comfort of their faith when they are terrified, would you?_ the chantry mother’s eyes said slyly as the chorus rose up around them. _You are too kind to refuse them their belief._

And Nyeni wavered. They _bowed_ to her, and she flushed, wishing she could sink into the snow and remain buried there until every human in the world forgot she existed. Their eyes all shone in the firelight with unwavering hope and faith and awe. It was terrifying, having that many people depending on her. They truly believed she could save them; they _knew_ she would not fail, and in them, she glimpsed the rest of the world--all of Thedas relying on her to save them. Her legs nearly buckled under the weight of all that trust. 

For a second, she wanted to give it to them; she wanted to let them think that she believed their god had given her to them as a gift. For just a moment, she wanted to let them have their way, to let it be easy for them, to let them have her. But life wasn’t easy. And faith wasn’t easy. And she was just as scared as they were. 

She was only one person, one small elf mage, and she didn’t have the favor of the gods. She had the burden of old magic polluting her veins, the gift of fire written on her face, and the desire to help people impressed on her soul by her mother a long time ago. 

“It’s not the truth,” she murmured, arms crossed over her chest, shivering slightly in the wind after the crowd had dispersed and Solas had given her even more things to think about and most of the people had gone to sleep fitfully under the stars. 

“I am not so sure the truth matters,” a voice said quietly. Nyeni jumped, slightly startled, and Cassandra smiled apologetically and came to sit beside her by the fire, draping a blanket across her shoulders. Nyeni frowned. 

“It does matter, though. I can understand that the people are frightened, and that they turn to religion when they are scared, but that doesn’t mean what they believe is right.” 

Cassandra was quiet for a moment, gaze lost in the fire, the crease of a frown on her forehead as she considered what she wanted to say. Nyeni watched her thoughts tumble behind her eyes and tried to ignore the impulse to reach out and smooth away the frown with her fingers. 

“I never doubted that you survived,” Cassandra said finally, turning to face the Herald. “When Dorian, Varric, and I caught up with the rest of the survivors from Haven, there was some debate as to if we should go back for you. But I always believed that you were alive. I will admit that I was frightened; I did not know what it would take to find you in that snowstorm. I could say that it was pure luck that you stumbled into me, but I could also say that the Maker guided me to you. Or that your gods brought you to me. Who is to say which is the truth? There are many truths, I think, and things that are true for some people may not be true for others. But that does not make them less true.” 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Nyeni argued, shaking her head. “One thing happened: I was following the most logical path you would have taken through the mountain pass. You were coming back the same way you had already come. We found each other. That’s what happened, and there’s no arguing it. That’s the truth.” 

“No, those are the facts,” Cassandra countered. “The truth is that I was praying to the Maker every step of the way, that He might protect you and bring you to me. And then you appeared. The truth is that even though I know nothing of your gods, I prayed to them, too. The truth is that I know there are logical explanations for everything that has happened, but that does not change the way I _feel_ , nor what I believe.” 

“I don’t think I was chosen for this,” Nyeni said quietly, and there was a waver in her voice that betrayed the fear she tried so hard not to show. “I know you do, but I don't. I believe that all of this was a terrible accident--that Corypheus was trying to break the world, and that instead, he broke me.”  

“Perhaps,” Cassandra said, “but I know you. You are strong, Nyeni. And I do not think you are broken.” 

“I’m scared,” she admitted, pulling the blanket Cassandra had given her tighter around her shoulders. “And I don’t know what to do.” 

“Choose,” Cassandra said simply. “You have been given a gift, and regardless of who or what gave it to you, if it was the Maker or your gods or an accident, it does not matter. You have the ability to save the world, or to let it break. It does not matter what other people believe. What do _you_ believe?”

She held Nyeni’s gaze, her eyes something like angry, but softer, encouraging. Nyeni was the first one to look away, and Cassandra let out a small huff of a sigh as the Herald’s eyes slipped back to get lost in the fire. 

“It does not make you any less heroic if you are not the Herald,” Cassandra said finally. “They would still look at you like that even if they did not believe you were chosen. When the sky was falling and demons were attacking, you still stood up between them and those demons and fought to save them. You were strong and brave and selfless and good before the Maker put His hand on you, and you will be those things long after all this is over. Perhaps that is the only truth that matters.” 

Before Nyeni could reply, Cassandra stood up. She rested a hand briefly on the Herald’s shoulder--a gentler reassurance than her words could be--and turned toward her tent. Her footsteps paused for a moment. “Get some sleep, Lavellan,” she said quietly. “We have work to do in the morning.” 

She was gone before Nyeni could look back at her. She sighed, curling and uncurling her hand around the mark. It was quiet and painless now, barely noticeable but for a faint greenish tinge to the skin of her palm. She reached out carefully and muttered a spell and cupped a handful of fire, bringing the comforting warmth closer to her, knowing it would not burn her. _Choose_ , Cassandra had said. But what were her options? _To save the world or to let it break_. To stand between the people and the demons and fight or to let them die. To help people or to leave them. 

Belief in the Maker or in the Creators or in sheer dumb luck never entered into the equation. 

Nyeni opened her hand and let the fire float up to the sky in tiny sparks no bigger than stars. The next morning, she stood at the head of the column of survivors and led them to Skyhold. 

.

“Your decisions let us heal the sky,” Cassandra said, days later, leading her up the stairs of the keep, and Nyeni knew before she finished that this was the moment that history was going to remember. “Your determination brought us out of Haven. You are this creature’s rival because of what _you_ did. And we know it. All of us. The Inquisition requires a leader: the one who has been guiding us this whole time. You.”

Nyeni wanted to argue that it was Cassandra who had been guiding them all, who had been tirelessly working from the beginning, who never stopped. It was Cassandra who believed, and it was she who should lead. But she knew that Cassandra had already made her choice, and that she had chosen to believe. 

“What it means for you and how you lead us, is for you alone to determine,” she finished, and she watched Nyeni's face, eyes narrowed, waiting to see what she would do. If she had decided. 

Nyeni picked up the sword. It was impossibly heavy, and the fleeting thought that anyone who could wield one as gracefully as Cassandra did was something a bit more than impressive. But she raised it anyway, using both hands, and in that moment, she decided. 

“I wasn’t chosen,” she said, and though her voice was loud enough for the whole courtyard to hear her, she spoke only to Cassandra. “I _have_ chosen.” There was a flash of pride in the Seeker’s eyes, and warmth flooded through Nyeni. “I will lead us to victory. We sealed the Breach; now let’s save the world.” 

The crowd cheered, but Cassandra’s smile was enough for Nyeni. The Inquisitor might not believe in many things, but she believed in Cassandra, and that Cassandra believed in her. And that would be enough for both of them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a headache. I was going to go to sleep early, I was going to go the fuck to sleep and get rid of this headache, but nooo, Nyeni was here and ready to be written about now so here we are. This is turning out more Cass-heavy than originally intended, and there's isn't enough Josie. We'll definitely be rectifying that in the next chapter...


End file.
